Counting Sheep
by Tris'sLightningQuill
Summary: What defines a lie? The spoken word? But how powerful is the word left unspoken? And how, when everything you are draws that unspoken pain to you like flies to honey, how do you get away? Sort of a companion to my other Maggie piece. Please R&R, thanks!


Maggie sat cross-legged on the unkempt back lawn between Benjamin and Senna, idly observing one of the practice sessions between newborn Bella and those with capabilities to train her unproved talents. Today she matched her skills against the tall, copper-skinned Zafrina, which explained the other Amazon's presence in the ring of otherwise gifted immortals. They were all laughing and joking between bouts of blindness and mirage broadcasted by the dueling pair. Normally, these daily spectacles were fun to watch, a casual gathering of vampires that might not otherwise have sat down together in the house and surrounding forest--even Alistair could be felt a part of the group, peering down from an attic window propped ajar. Today, however, Maggie was having a hard time enjoying herself. Normally, she enjoyed Benji's company, and his mate's, but just then his laughter was a little too loud, just forced enough so that the whisper-breeze at the back of her skull was growing uncomfortable--and Tia was nowhere to be seen. Her maroon eyes kept flicking back to the couple just inside the sliding glass door. The Egyptian woman's face was veiled, as ever, hiding her expression, but her silence screamed volumes in the face of her husband's hissed monologue.

Maggie had learned early on at the Cullen's house that there was much she did not understand, and much she would have to learn to live around. She'd found it was best to avoid Kate, the taller of the two blonde girls who smelt musky and strange; though she didn't actually say much, those few words were usually of such a tone to set Maggie's teeth slightly against their edge. There was much Kate was hiding, but mostly from herself. Carmen, her olive-skinned friend, on the other hand, was a joy to be around, though her frank observations and criticisms earned her not a few glares. Around Nessie, much as everyone in the house, Maggie could not keep from smiling. Ah, for the honesty of a child. Though she regretted it, Maggie thought the leader of the Egyptian coven--and by extension, his wife, for they were perpetually together--would have to be added to the short list of those she avoided as hazardous to her health. And it was a shame, Maggie thought, for she quite liked the younger members, and was sure she would have liked Kebi as well, given the chance to get to know her.

Benjamin noticed the repetitive flicker of her increasingly uneasy gaze, and spoke all the louder as if to make up for it. Maggie could stand it no longer. She jumped up and ran for it, small hands clapped to her ears to block out the ugly sounds that pricked her. No one noticed the streaking, red-haired comet bolt around the side of the house and slip beneath a convenient elbow though the open door.

She kept her eyes down in the empty hall and up the stairs, heedless of anyone she might have passed. The corridor spit her out in a big, dim, cream-colored room. A big four-poster bed dominated the space, and Maggie dove for it, instinctively veering for the side that smelled of rosewater and cloves. She flung back the quilt and heavy down comforter, burrowing deep into the linen sheets, breathing hard and fast to block out any other noises and distract herself with the varied scents of the unfamiliar bedroom. She tasted a dry tang of driftwood; cosmetics and paper; various fabrics, cotton, wool, leather, satin; wood, paint, dusty rugs; small bits of metal, iron, silver, platinum, gold, titanium, brass; the dull, unfamiliar bite of plastic Maggie had decided she did not care for, though in minimal amounts. Her heavy breath sounded too close to sobs for her own comfort, but there was nothing she could do about that. Maggie opened her mouth--the better to catch the perfumes around her, cataloging the fainter ones: flowery scents and musky colognes in crystal decanters, sealant in the windows frames, acidic inks in pens, and the lingering trace of bath salts in an adjoining room. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and wrapped her arms around her head, turning her face o the cool, yielding expanse of the mattress beneath the heavy blankets where the light was gloamy and diffused--and slowly, her ragged breathing calmed, and slowed, and finally stopped altogether.

***

When Esme made her way up to the bedroom she shared with her husband, she hardly noticed that the unfamiliar scent did not end in the hallway, or even double back upon itself. She'd come up the stairs in search of one of her portfolios after Eleazar had expressed an interest in seeing a particular batch of designs. She'd been speaking over her shoulder--instructing Charlotte in how to operate the washing machine. Then she was passing the dark, empty doorway on the landing, accompanied by its habitual, dull stab of pain. The taste of rosehips and gathering rain intensified sharply as she entered her own room, rather than fading as it ought, and the asymmetrical lump on her side of the bed brought her up short with an involuntary hiss.

The feral reaction to this intrusion invoked no response, however, and after a moment, Esme crept on light and wary feet to the bedside. A fringe of scarlet curls peeped out of the thick cocoon as the cautiously peeled back the coverlet.

"Hello," she said, the question clear in her voice as she exposed the bed's occupant. "Are you all right?"

Little Maggie lay huddled near the edge of the big bed, her angular, pubescent body tucked into a tight fetal curl. Her vampirically pallid face was taut and strained; Esme was put in mind of Alice, but a few months before, prone on the attic floor, face pressed against the cold window as rain beat down. She cradled her head in her hands, between her knees as she lay on her side in a rigid knot. Her mouth was a pucker, her eyes squinched tight as if against some bright light.

The Irish girl nodded without opening her eyes. "I just want to sleep." she murmured.

Those words took Esme severely aback, a jolt of surprise running her through like that of a missed step; the shock was writ on her face, and she stood arrested with abashment and concern for a moment as she worked to blank her expression.

"All right," she said carefully, recovering quickly though she was still shaken. She drew the blankets back up and tucked hem gently around Maggie's still body. Esme tenderly stroked the elfin vampire's cold cheek, a cursory touch with the nearly unconscious habit that had earned her the nickname Mama Bird.

"Is there anything I can get you?" she asked kindly, wondering whether she ought to send for Carlisle, despite Maggie's assertion of wellbeing. Perhaps because of it.

The ruby halo shook in resolute denial. "Thank you," she breathed. "Just let me sleep."

Esme smoothed the sheet, and, baffled, turned to go.

"Esme?" Maggie's thin hand shot out and grasped the taller vampire's larger one in a bruising grip, stilling her instantly. Esme met the little girl's eyes as they peered out like wide garnets in her stark, suddenly solemn face. "Kebi could use a friend right now." she whispered as the hand retreated and once again she withdrew in the depths of her makeshift sanctuary.


End file.
